“You did it, Lexi,” he says softly, his forehead nearly touching mine. “You’re back.”
Something inside me breaks open—the fear, the doubt, the months of him groveling—and before I even realize what I’m doing, I lean up and kiss him.
Before the weight of it can even settle, I turn right into Keaton. His arms come around me, his drumsticks pressing into my spine while his other hand cups the back of my head. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs into my hair before pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
He lets me go only for me to get pulled straight into a Nash-and-Blake sandwich—one of my favorite places to be. Of course, Nash is the one who starts jumping up and down, forcing us to bounce with him. The warmth of my guys surrounds me as they cheer, their laughter ringing in my ears like music.
The sound swells around me—laughter, shouts, the thud of Keaton’s drumsticks against the console—and for the first time in months, it doesn’t hurt to listen. Every noise feels like part of a song I almost forgot how to sing.
When Nash finally releases me, I stumble a step, but Dare’s hand is already there, warm and steady around my elbow. I sink into his hug as his arms fold around me. “Told you the new you was more than enough,” he whispers against my ear.
The reminder of the day we confessed our love makes my cheeks heat. I’m surprised he even remembers what we talked about.
But who am I kidding? It’s Darius. Of course he does.
I tip my head back and look up into his eyes, but before I can respond, Nash interrupts. “We need to celebrate. Let’s call Izzy and Gill and share the good news.”
“Later,” Keaton grumbles, already fiddling with his sticks. “We still have work to do.”
“Party pooper,” Nash whines, earning a snort from Blake. Then he turns to Dare. “Hey, D, tell me you got that on camera. I need to rewatch how beautiful she was singing.”
I groan. “Please tell me you didn’t record that.”
Dare just smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Which of course, means he absolutely did.
My heart is fuller than it’s been in a long time. My days may have been filled with music, creating with the guys, but it’s different when I get to sing. When my voice fills a room, it’s like my lungs remember what they were made for. The vibrations ripple through my ribs and into something deeper, like I’m waking up parts of myself I buried just to survive.
There’s so many moments where I’ve felt like this is it, this is when I feel like I’m living again. But this is another one. Another step toward having my life back, toward making sure that bastard never wins.
“Come here, sweetheart,” Dare says, patting the couch next to him. I sink into the cushion, and it dumps me right into his side. His arm drapes over my shoulders, and his fingertips draw circles into my shoulder.
“What are you working on?” I ask, peering at his phone.
“Hitting post on our latest teaser.” His thumb presses on the screen, and I gasp.
“You better not have posted me singing,” I object, reaching for his phone.
The joyous sound of his laughing fills the air as he easily hands the device over to me. “Of course I didn’t. Not without your permission.”
I give him a narrowed look, but my smile cancels out all seriousness. “Better not,” I warn teasingly.
“Oh, yeah?” He licks his lips and eyes me up and down. “Or what?”
His teasing tone sends a shiver up my spine, but I match his smirk. “I… uh… didn’t think that far,” I admit, and his laughter rumbles low in his chest, the kind that makes me want to lean into him a little more.
“Did you see the comments on yesterday’s video?” Tristan asks, walking into the room. He glances up from his phone and freezes. “Sorry, did I walk in on something? Should I leave?”
“Only me teasing our girl,” Dare quips, winking at me. “No need to leave; join us.”
Tristan coughs, his face turning red. Mine does too as my thoughts spiral. Surely he didn’t mean a threesome. I’m already questioning whether I even kissed Tris in my excitement earlier.
“I did,” Dare says. It takes me a second to realize he’s answering Tristan’s first question. “But I don’t think Raina has.”
“Wait!” Nash calls out, running over to the couch and flopping next to me with his phone held out. “Check this out.”
On screen is someone dancing to the last song I sang before my attack. The last song the world ever heard me sing. After it plays through, the first thing that catches my eye is the title of the video: #RainaRises. A swell of warmth floods through me, almost overpowering. It’s strange—this sense of connection from a sea of pixels, but these little bursts of love from the fans out there draw me in like moths to a flame.
